My mom is here.
Yesterday, we were in Starbucks. I slipped into the bathroom while she waited for me. When I emerged, I heard one clerk ask her for her order...and the other one said, "she's waiting for her husband (meaning me.)"
Quick -- what's the number for my therapist again?
Last summer, when visiting my parents in Illinois, before she could introduce me as her son to a neighbor, the neighbor said, "oh, is this your brother?"
This is not helping my mid-life crisis. Mom's in her sixties. I'm in my early forties. True, in gay years, that makes me past my expiration date and on the age continuum of jail bait -- yummy -- troll -- I'm at the troll end. But I don't think I look like a contemporary of my mother who was born during World War II.
Maybe it's not an insult to me but rather a compliment to my youthful looking mom? Yeah...that's it.
3 comments:
You're definitely not in the troll area of the age continuum. No where near. And I have sway in such matters, I'm just past the jail bait marker! :)
I'll second that, but not being "just past the jail bait marker"....
Maybe it's not an insult to me but rather a compliment to my youthful looking mom?
I'll second (well, third) that thought and give you one of my experiences to chew on:
While on holiday with Alan in New Orleans several years back, some street person made an unsavory comment about how nice it was for me to be spending quality time with my dad.
We laughed it off and attributed it to the flask of whiskey to which he was so desperately clutching at the time.
Yeah ... whiskey. That's it.
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